It's You
by melissaeverdeen13
Summary: In an AU-world, April is Mark's little sister. He's back home from college for the summer, and he's brought someone with him - Jackson Avery. The last thing April expected was to fall for her brother's best friend, and that's the last thing Mark wants. Between Mark and life choices, April and Jackson have to fight to be together. Will it work out in the end?


I only have half a lap left. I've been ahead of the pack for the last stretch of the race, and I know without a shadow of a doubt that I have this win in the bag.

I pump my arms and push forward even as the muscles in my thighs and calves scream for me to stop. My lungs are burning with fatigue, but I can see the finish line. Bystanders on the sidelines are cheering me on, but I can barely hear them. Until I break that ribbon, I'm in my own little bubble and nothing will pop it.

Nothing except knowing I got first place.

I feel footsteps getting closer, pounding the earth as they catch up. But I won't let them. It's closer than ever - I'm going to make it. I'm going to win. I'm going to get first and win my cross-country regional race, the first senior from our high school to ever do it.

When my torso breaks the ribbon, my bubble is burst and the crowd from West Seattle High erupts into loud screams. I collapse with my hands on my knees as I try to catch my breath, and an exhausted smile finds its way to my lips. I did it. What I've been practicing for all season, I did it.

After the awards ceremony, I look around for my mom. Scanning the crowd, I see her messy mop of red hair in a bun on the top of her head and we lock eyes. I jog to her and she hugs me tight, then spins me around so my feet lift off the ground.

"April, baby!" she exclaims. "You did it!"

She sets my feet back down and holds my face in her hands. I smile at her with my cheeks squished together and she gives me a firm kiss on the forehead.

"Daddy would've been so proud of you," she says softly, just for us. My dad died when I was in middle school. He used to love coming to my cross country races.

"Thanks, mom," I say.

"Good going, Speed Demon."

I hear the sound of a familiar voice, and I flip around with wide eyes and a gaping, surprised mouth. Standing behind me is my older brother, Mark, who's 21 and a junior at the University of Washington.

"Mark!" I shriek, and launch myself into his arms. "You came!"

"Of course I came," he says. "I'm not gonna miss my baby sister's race. Come on now."

I laugh and hug him tighter, squeezing his shoulders for good measure. "You saw it, right?" I say, a little breathless. "You saw my win?"

"Of damn course I saw your win," he says. "I was just keeping a low profile so the surprise wouldn't be ruined."

I can't stop smiling. "I can't believe you're here," I say, and he wraps an arm around me to jostle me around.

"School's out for the summer!" he bellows. "I'm home for three whole months. Oh, and I brought somebody with me. I swear, I just saw…"

My stomach sinks. There goes any quality time with my brother over the summer, if he brought someone who's most likely a girlfriend back with him.

"There he is!" Mark says, pointing. "Went to the car to grab a hoodie."

My eyes focus on a guy approaching us, holding a sweatshirt draped over one arm and wearing a tentative smile on his face. He's confident with a great body, beautiful skin, and piercing eyes. My heart does a flip inside my chest as I look at him, and I think I'm frozen where I'm standing.

"April, this is my buddy, Jackson," he says. "He's staying with us for the summer. His family's traveling and stuff, he didn't have a place to crash. And Mom, being the awesome and cool mom she is, offered our house. Jackson, this is April. My baby sister."

"Stop," I say, wriggling out from under his arm. "I'm not your baby sister. I'll be 18 soon."

"Okay, big shot," he says, scoffing.

"If you don't mind, April, I offered Jackson your bed," Mom says. "I'm sorry. I forgot to tell you. I really should have. Mark was going to come home a week later, but he wanted to see your race."

This boy, _this_ boy of all people? Sleeping in my bed? There could be worse things.

"Uh, no," I say. "It's fine."

Jackson looks torn. "I really don't mind the couch," he says.

"No, no," Mom says. "You're our guest. April can take the pullout."

"Dude, don't fight her on this," Mark says. "You don't want that pullout. Al weighs like, one pound, barely makes a dent. You'd have scoliosis after one night."

I elbow Mark in the ribs, hard. "Don't call me that," I mutter.

He looks at me weird. "Alright, Allen. I'll use your full Christian name."

I roll my eyes and mutter under my breath, and he laughs. He gives Jackson a conspiratory look and he joins in chuckling, too. Great.

" _Mom_ ," I say, eyes wide and tone emphatic.

"Mark," Mom warns.

"What, what?" he says. "I'm just reminding Al of her past." He looks at Jackson. "When we were little, she wanted to be a part of my group of middle school buddies so bad. So when she was like, 7, she tucked all her hair into a baseball cap and wore a hoodie with baggy-ass jeans and called herself Allen. Tried to fool the guys that she was one of us so we'd let her play."

My face is burning red. My 'Allen' phase is not one I like to relive, but the nickname has never died. Most of the time, I don't even notice it. But now, with Jackson around, it's the last thing I want Mark to bring up.

"Awww," Jackson says. "Did you let her?"

"He did, but then he always kicked me out because I was faster than all of them," I say, smugly. "They hated playing tag with me."

"Whatever, we kicked you out because you had cooties," Mark says, then cracks up.

"Okay, enough out of you both," Mom says. "Let's get home."

At home, I kick off my running shoes in the doorway and notice that Jackson still has all his bags. He and Mark must have driven in and gone immediately to my race.

"Um, just let me…" I begin, noticing that my palms are becoming sweaty. "Just let me get some of my stuff out of my room. You-you can bring your bags up, if you want. I can show you where it is."

"Alright," Jackson agrees amiably, and I lead the way up the stairs.

When it's just the two of us in the small confines of my room, I become hyper-aware of how sweaty and gross I am. I probably smell horrible and look worse. He probably thinks I'm just Mark's grubby little sister. I wish I could've met him when I actually had normal clothes on. Maybe I could've run a brush through my hair and swiped on a little mascara, at least. But no, he had to meet me with dirt streaks on my face and my hair in a flyaway ponytail.

As if I'd have a chance with him, anyway. But a girl can dream.

"So, here's my room," I say, leaning on my dresser in a way that's supposed to look nonchalant. "You can set your bags anywhere. I just… let me grab my charger and my towels, and-and some underwear…"

My face flames. Why did I say that? Why in the world did I have to add that?

"Make yourself at home," I say quickly. "I'm gonna get in the shower. I'm so gross."

He smiles. "Didn't notice," he says. "Great race, by the way."

I scoff. "You didn't even see me finish," I say.

There's a glint in his eyes and I'm not sure why it's there. "I saw you run before that," he says. "You're fast as hell."

"There's a reason Mark calls me Speed Demon," I say.

"I was wondering why he was just calling you Demon," Jackson says. "I thought it was maybe because of the red hair."

I touch the end of my ponytail self-consciously, looking at him with furrowed eyebrows.

"That wasn't… no!" he says. "I'm not teasing you. Your… your hair is pretty."

I screw up my face even more. I know right now that my hair is the furthest from pretty that it could possibly get.

"Oh," I say, taking a few steps backwards towards the door. "You, too."

He lifts a hand to his head, where his hair is so closely-shaven that it's almost not there. "Thanks…" he says, looking confused.

"I'm just gonna-" I say, then hit the closed door with my back so it makes a loud thudding sound. "Thought this was open," I say, giggling nervously. "I'm just… I'm gonna go… now…"

I can feel his eyes on me even after I leave the room.

Later that night after Mom goes to bed, Mark makes a fire in the backyard and the three of us sit around it with sticks and marshmallows. I'm standing next to it, wearing socks and Nike slip-ons with cropped leggings, and my arms are colder than I'd like to admit in my short-sleeved t-shirt.

"I keep burning them!" I say, bouncing my knees.

"Maybe because you're shivering like a wet chihuahua," Mark says. "Like when you go into the pound, you know you see that cold, wet dog in the corner that no one wants? And it's always shivering? That's you."

"Shut up," I say, trying to get marshmallow out from under my fingernail.

"Are you cold?" Jackson asks. "You can have my hoodie, if you want."

I look at him with big eyes. "I'm fine," I say, but pull my arms close to my body.

"I gotta take a piss," Mark says, standing up and stretching. "Don't miss me too much."

I cringe at his crassness and watch him walk into the house.

"You're obviously freezing," Jackson says, a few beats later. "Take it."

I look back at him and he's already taken it off. He extends his arm out, offering it to me, and I take it cautiously. I set my stick down with a marshmallow on it, and when my head pops out from his hoodie I see that he's picked it up.

"Hey," I say. I tuck my hands into the sleeves and wrap my arms around myself, feeling much warmer.

"I'm gonna toast it right for you," he says. "I'm pretty much the master."

I pull my lower lip into my mouth and watch him turn the stick in a slow circle, and he pulls it from the flame when it's a perfect golden-brown color.

"Wow," I say. "Nice."

He smiles softly and pulls it off, then holds it between his thumb and first finger, arm outstretched. I meet his eyes tentatively, then look at the marshmallow that's obviously meant for me to take.

"I won't bite," he says.

My heart stutters and skips a beat. I don't interact with boys often - only Mark, really. My few friends at school are girls, and I'm not the best around the opposite sex. I'm awkward and generally disliked by them.

Why does this feel so different?

I close my mouth around the marshmallow and try to touch his fingers as little as I can, but it's impossible not to touch them at all. My lips graze the pad of his thumb and we lock eyes as I do. I think I might collapse right there on the spot.

"Good?" he asks, as I chew. He sticks those same fingers into his mouth and sucks on them, getting the sticky residue off.

I nod, still in a daze. I blink slowly at him, marveling how otherworldly and godlike he looks in the light coming from the fire.

I tuck my hair behind my ears and open my mouth to speak, but suddenly I've forgotten every word I've ever known. I don't even know my name. I'm sure I've forgotten how to breathe. I wonder if I'm even a person anymore.

When he smiles, it just gets worse. I don't recognize these feelings inside me. Is this a crush, or am I dying?

"Did I miss anything?" Mark bellows, sauntering up.

I snap out of my trance and Jackson looks over to my brother with a friendly smile. "Just showed your sister how to actually roast a marshmallow," he says.

"He's good, right?" Mark says. "I keep him around for a reason. He throws a mean punch, and the bastard can cook."

I shove my hands into the front pocket of the hoodie Jackson gave me. I can't think of a response. I can't think of anything besides the way this boy's eyes feel on me, or the way it felt when my lips touched his skin.

I want it to happen again. I want it bad.

But I doubt, there's actually no possible way, that he sees me like that. I'm Mark's dumb little sister. And probably nowhere near his type. I can't even imagine all the hot college girls he has knocking down his door at U Washington. I don't even compare.

I only got boobs last summer. And even now, they're just A-cups. Nothing to marvel at. I don't have much to speak of in the curves department, although I have been told by my best friend Jo that I have a nice ass. It's from the running, it builds muscle.

I wonder if Jackson thinks so. I wonder if he's looked at it.

I scold myself for even wondering. That's so gross and not okay. Just because I'm thinking of him in that way doesn't mean he's reciprocating. It's stupid of me to be curious, because nothing is going to happen.

The fire dies down and it gets colder outside, so we all decide to go in and watch a movie. I change into my most modest pajamas - soft blue pants and a long-sleeved white thermal shirt that I usually only wear in the dead of winter, and it's late spring. I sit on the corner of the couch near the armrest and watch Jackson walk in, wearing gray sweatpants and a black t-shirt.

The sweatpants don't hide much. I tell myself that it's so inappropriate to stare and rip my eyes away to look at the black TV.

"What're we watchin'?" Mark calls from the kitchen, where he's making popcorn. "Evil Dead?"

"No," I groan. "Please no."

Jackson plops down next to me. Next to _me_.

"Al, stop being a pussy," Mark says.

"Don't call me that," I retort, eyebrows furrowed. "You're so gross."

"So watch the movie," he says. "It's not real. Nothing's gonna come and get you in the middle of the night."

Jackson makes an amused sound, though I'm not sure why.

"Do you wanna watch it, Avery?" Mark asks his friend.

He shrugs. "Sure, I don't care," he says. "But if April doesn't-"

"She can deal," Mark says. "Two against one. Sorry, Al, you're outnumbered."

I roll my eyes and press my back against the couch, letting out a long breath. I've endured stupid horror movies for Mark before, this won't be the first time, but that doesn't mean I enjoy doing it. They always give me nightmares after, no matter how stupid the plot and special effects are.

The movie starts and is immediately gory. I spend a lot of time with my eyes squinted, staring at the screen and hoping not to see much. And it only gets worse as the movie goes on. At one point, someone breaks someone else's face with a chunk of porcelain sink.

"This is so not okay," I whimper, covering my face with my hands.

"Shhhh," Mark hisses.

Then, something happens. Slowly, Jackson extends his arm to rest along the back of the couch, inadvertently - or maybe advertently - to wrap around my shoulders.

"I got you," he mutters, and I think I might jump out of my own body.

His arm is around me. I'm scared, and he's comforting me. Is this really happening?

A loud noise on screen makes me jump and gasp, both at once. I feel Jackson's hand on my outer shoulder and, making a bold move, I lean against him. Just slightly. Not my full weight, but I let the side of my body touch the side of his.

He's warm. I like it. A lot.

He smells like a boy, but in a good way. Like very subtle cologne and shampoo, maybe deodorant. Whatever it is, I find myself wanting to hold onto it.

"It's just a movie," he says, his voice smooth and comforting.

I nod, taking my lower lip into my mouth subtly. I look up at his face, shift my gaze from his eyes to his lips, then look away quickly. My heart is beating so fast that I'm sure he can hear it, or at least feel it.

I've just gotten comfortable when Mark's voice interrupts the sound of the movie.

"Oh, no," he says, looking over at the two of us with a muddled expression. "No fucking way. Avery, get your arm off my little sister."

Jackson removes his arm, obeying just like that.

"Mark," I snap, eyes narrowed.

"No way," he says. "That's not gonna be a thing. You're not gonna go for her, sick fuck. She's like, 12 years old."

"I am not!" I object, voice rising in pitch and intensity.

"You basically are!" he throws back. "And you don't know this dude, I do! And he's not the type of guy you want to be with."

I screw up my face. "Real nice. What's that supposed to mean? And who said anything about 'being with' him? It was literally just an arm. Around me. Is that such a crime?"

"Arms lead to other shit," Mark says. "And this guy wants one thing and one thing only. And he's not gonna get it from you!"

I pinch my lips together. "This is so not okay," I say, standing up from the couch. "You're not the boss of me. You can't tell me what to do."

"Oh, because you're a big bad senior now?" he asks, his tone mocking. "You suddenly know everything there is to know about the world. This is coming from the girl who only just threw away her last training bra."

I just my head forward with my mouth wide open in shock. "Seriously?" I spit. I don't have anything else to say. I can't believe he just used that. Usually, I'm pretty good at comebacks, but right now I'm too mortified.

I clench my fists at my side and grit my teeth together. My face heats up with rage - not only is he bossy, but he embarrassed me in front of a guy I might like. An older guy, who might also like me. When in the history of ever has that happened before? And now Mark ruined it.

"You're not Dad," I grumble. "So stop acting like him. You're not even around most of the year. I can take care of myself."

"Not in a situation like this," he says, breezy as ever. He's not even mad, only I am. He turns to Jackson. "You keep your hands off my baby sister. Hear me? I'm not joking when I say I'll beat you into tomorrow."

Jackson nods curtly, but keeps staring at the TV. "Understood," he says.

I let out a loud groan and throw my head back with an eyeroll, disappearing from the room without so much as a 'goodnight.'

Once I'm in my room and sitting on my bed, I remember that this space is supposed to be Jackson's. I pound my fists on my mattress and slump back to lay sideways. I can't even be mad in my own room.

I have a little bit more time, though, until the movie ends. I can't believe that Mark would say that stuff to me - to both of us, really. It was totally uncalled for. He had no right to insert himself like that. It was so unfair. He treats me like I'm his kid sister, running around in overalls with my hair in pigtails. He treats me like he has to protect me and watch out for me, like when Dad died.

That was six years ago. I was eleven, Mark was around fifteen. Things are different now. We've been to therapy and aren't the kids we were when he got sick. Of course, it still hurts. Of course, I still miss him. But I don't need protecting. I've grown into my own person, and Mark obviously can't see that.

Jackson can, I think. I don't think he sees me as Mark's kid sister. At least, until ten minutes ago he didn't. He put his arm around me. He gave me his hoodie, let me eat from his hand. That's not 'friend' material. At least, I don't think it is. I don't have a ton of experience in the department. But I know the jumpy feeling in my stomach doesn't exactly mean friendship.

As I'm still stewing in my thoughts and anger, I hear a soft knock on the door awhile later.

"Come in," I say, and start gathering my stuff to leave. I know it's Jackson.

He appears in the doorway, looking much less confident than he had all night.

"I-I really don't have to sleep in here, it's your room," he says. "I can take the pullout downstairs. I don't mind."

"No," I say, holding my favorite blanket and pillows in my arms. "You're our guest. It's okay. The sheets are clean, it should be nice and fresh for you."

He nods and smiles slightly, politely, and we edge around each other as he comes inside. A boy. In my room. With me still in it.

"I'm sorry for what Mark said," I say, out of the blue. I hadn't intended to have a conversation about it, I'm mortified enough, but it just came out. And I can't take it back now.

He shakes his head. "No, I'm sorry," he says. "I shouldn't… I overstepped. So, I'm sorry."

I stare at him for a long beat, wondering if I should say what I want to. "You… you didn't," I say. I shrug a little bit. "I liked it."

"You did?" he asks.

I nod slowly, biting my lip.

He chuckles softly. "So did I," he admits.

"You don't have to listen to him," I say. "I'm not 12. I'm not his 'baby sister.' I'm almost 18. I can handle myself. I'm a big girl."

"Except for you're kind of not," Jackson says, slyly smiling.

"Shut up," I say, blushing. "I mean, I'm basically an adult. I can make my own choices. I don't need my big brother out here making them for me."

We share a moment of poignant silence where I wonder what he's thinking. He's studying my face, eyes roving all over, and I'm doing the same to him.

"I'm just gonna put it out there," he finally says. "I like you, and I think you're cute. I mean, like… I like you. Like that."

I situate my grip on my bedding and end up dropping something I was trying to hide - my stuffed animal tiger that I've slept with since I was a baby. Jackson kneels with me as I try to collect everything, and ends up picking it up before I can.

"Give me that," I say, snatching it and tucking it under my arm again.

"Who was that little guy?" he asks, eyes glinting.

"Stop," I say, trying not to smile. "You're just gonna make fun of me."

"No…" he trails off. "I just wanna meet him."

He tries to finagle my tiger out from under my arm, but I wriggle away from him and end up on my bed with the blankets and pillows surrounding me, giggling as quietly as I can.

"Look what you made me do," I say, and go to grab my tiger, but Jackson gets there first.

"He looks a little worse for wear," he says, sitting on the bed next to me. "What's his name?"

"No way," I say. "Give him back."

"So it is a him," he says. "I'll call him Leopold."

I scoff and roll my eyes. "Oh, please. I named him when I was two. You think his name's… fricken, whatever you just said?"

He laughs. I give in.

"His name's Stripes," I say. "Obviously. Now, can I have him back?"

I tear Stripes from Jackson's grip and hold him close to my chest, protecting him.

"Stripes wanted me to ask you something," Jackson says, leaning closer to rest on one palm.

"Did he, now?" I say.

"Mm-hmm," he says.

"What's that?" I ask.

"If you like me, too," he says. "He wants to know if you like me, too."

I've known him for a handful of hours, that's it. But in those hours, he's made my feelings do crazy things that I've never experienced - not in my entire life. And he's actually paid attention to me. He teases me, but in a fun way. Not in a mean way, like I'm used to. And he smells really good. There's so much about him that I don't know, but the prospect of finding out is so exciting.

"You can tell him…" I whisper, leaning closer. "Yes."

I dream about Jackson. All night, sleeping in the middle of the living room on the pullout, I have really inappropriate dreams about him that I really shouldn't be having.

This fact only solidifies when I see him first thing in the morning, wearing those same gray sweatpants but without the t-shirt. I sit up, head just peeking above the couch, and spy on him in the kitchen with a glass of orange juice. It's barely 9am, Mark won't be up for hours, but Jackson already seems so comfortable.

I can't decide whether or not I want him to know I'm awake. I come to the conclusion that I don't, so I lay back down in a rush as he heads towards the living room.

I'm on my back, eyes gently closed, when I hear him sit down in the armchair in the corner. I hear faint phone sounds and him chuckling softly, and tell myself that now would be a good time to 'wake up.'

I blink open my eyes and take in a deep breath, looking right over at him as I stretch. He lifts his gaze from his phone and looks at me, then smiles.

"Hey, sleepyhead," he says. "You're finally up."

I rub my eyes, leaning against the arm of the couch. "It's not that late," I say.

"Late enough," he says. "I already went on a run, came back and showered. This house was still dead to the world."

"Mom's at work," I say. "She's a nurse."

"I heard," he says, then pauses. "Hey, want me to cook us up some bacon and eggs? I've been told that mine can't be beat."

My stomach growls, right on cue. "Sounds good," I say. He gets up, and I follow him with my eyes. "Jackson," I say, trying to gather my courage. "About last night. Um… did you mean what you said? About…?"

"Liking you?" he finishes for me.

I nod, convinced that it was either a joke or a dream.

"I meant it," he says. "I don't make my famous breakfast for just anyone. Did you mean it?"

A smile sneaks onto my face, I can't help it. "Yeah," I say, leaning into the couch bashfully. "But my brother, he's…" I sigh. "He's not gonna like it."

"You don't have to worry about me coming onto you," Jackson says, walking into the kitchen like he owns the place. "If you're worried about Mark not liking it, then I won't make a move. I won't do anything. I won't even look at you." He half-smiles. "I can't promise I won't think about you, though."

I blush red. "I kind of want you to look at me," I say, unsure of where my confidence is coming from. It's definitely welcome, though.

"You do?" he asks. I nod in response.

"Don't worry about Mark," I say. "I don't plan on telling him. I think if we just… kept our feelings a secret, then it'll be okay." I clear my throat. "We can be friends, either way. We should be friends."

"Friends are good," he says, nodding along. "Always a good thing."

I can tell he wants to say more, but he keeps it to himself and leaves me guessing.

"And if we wanted to do… other things… then we'd just have to be a little sneaky," I say. I truly don't know where this is coming from. It's so unlike me. But looking at him, it doesn't feel at all out of place to be talking like this. It feels fitting. He makes me feel excited for reasons I don't know. I feel like I'm in control of my own actions for the first time, like I'm doing something completely for myself.

"Other things," he echoes. "Okay."

"Morning, people," I hear, and Mark comes trudging into the kitchen looking like a mess. "What other things are we talking about?"

Jackson covers beautifully. "Just asking April what other things she might want in her omelet," he says. "I'm making breakfast."

"Amazing," Mark says. "And hey, both of you two idiots. Sorry for flipping my shit last night. Al, don't tell mom. And Avery, you get it, right? That's my kid sister. I'd die for her, kill for her, all that rot. And I know how you are with the ladies. Use 'em and lose 'em. I don't want you breaking her heart, alright? I'm just looking out for the greater good here."

My stomach twists as I wonder how much truth Mark's words hold. If so, I think I might be getting myself into hot water with Jackson. I've never had a boyfriend before, let alone one who's a player. I don't know how smart this whole thing is now.

Jackson must notice the caution on my face because he cuts in with a charming smile. "Give me some more credit than that," he says. "I treat my ladies right."

"Yeah, which I can hear through the wall," Mark grumbles. "Then I never see them again."

Jackson eyes him. "Like you have any room to talk."

Mark laughs and points in his direction. "Got me there!" he says, guffawing. "Got me there. Al, shut your ears."

I roll my eyes and turn away, flicking on the TV while trying to ignore their stupid boy banter. I can't find anything worthwhile to watch, but breakfast is ready soon enough so I go over to the table and join them.

"Too bad you two will be bored today," Mark says. "I have to go to the DMV and get my licence renewed, get new plates for my car, take her into the shop. I'm getting her all gussied up for the new school year. It's probably gonna take me all day. What will you two ingrates do without me?"

I shrug and take a big bite of bacon. Jackson was right, it's delicious. "Don't know," I say.

"Whatever you do, please don't ask Jo over," Mark says. "That Wilson. She'll be all over Avery. No one needs that."

"She has Alex," I say. "She would not be all over him. And anyway, I wasn't going to invite her over. I'll find something to do by myself."

"And leave me bored and lonely," Jackson cuts in, pretending to be sad and dejected.

"Aww, poor pretty boy," Mark says. "All alone with nobody to play with."

Jackson laughs and rolls his eyes, and the three of us finish breakfast with light conversation. Afterwards, Mark goes upstairs to get ready and leaves his dirty plate right there on the table, and Jackson goes to pick it up.

"I'll get that," I say. "He's my pig brother. And you cooked."

He chuckles as I pick up the plate. "He really is a slob."

"You're telling me," I say. "We shared a room for a while there, until we moved into this house. It was horrible. I had to draw a line down the middle of it with masking tape so he wouldn't get any of his crap on my side."

Jackson laughs. I watch him as he does; I love the way his eyes crinkle at the corners and his mouth comes fully open, exposing those pretty white teeth. I've never seen a boy so handsome.

"That's a valid idea," he says. "I should try that with our apartment."

We clean up the kitchen and Mark leaves out the front door, calling out a hasty goodbye as he does.

"I have calculus homework to do," I say, making my way towards the stairs. "But after that, we could find something to do?"

Jackson agrees, and I bring my homework downstairs while wondering what he'll do as I'm concentrated on it. I get set up at the table and he comes back in the room with normal clothes on and sits down right next to me.

"Are you seriously gonna watch me?" I ask.

He shrugs and smiles. "Nothing better to do."

"Than watch me struggle with math."

"You don't struggle," he says, scoffing. "Don't give me that."

"You don't know," I say.

"Yes, I do," he says. "I like smart girls."

I blush. "Well, then you'll like me 70% of the time."

"We'll see about that," he says, eyes flashing.

I open my binder and get my notebook paper out, picking up in the middle of a problem I'd left off on during class on Friday. As I think, I stick the eraser on the end of my pencil in my mouth and chew on it, and end up filling up half a page with all my work shown.

"What're you gonna do when you're out of high school?" he asks.

I look up at him. "Oh," I say. "I've been accepted into a few places. I haven't chosen where I'm going yet."

"What places?"

I don't like to brag. I haven't even told Jo or Mark where I've been accepted - only Mom knows. "U Washington," I begin. "Berkeley. Northwestern, in Chicago." I lower my voice. "Stanford, and Princeton."

His eyes bug out. "Holy fuck," he says. "Genius. So don't even tell me you're not smart."

"I never said that," I say, writing down another problem. "I just don't like to brag."

"Pretty and modest," he says. I blush. "And humble," he continues.

"Stop," I say, trying to focus on my task at hand. Suddenly, Mark's words from earlier come back to me, and I look up and ask Jackson out of the blue, "Is it true, what my brother said about you?"

He snorts. "He's probably said a lot of things about me."

"About girls," I say, voice dying off a bit. "That you're a player."

He clears his throat. "Oh…" he says. "That."

"Yeah, that."

"Well…" he says. "I won't lie to you. I don't really have to try with girls. They usually find their way to me."

I try to seem uncaring, keeping my eyes down on my paper as I make it look like I'm working on the problem.

"But I don't want to be like that with you," he says softly, as if there's anyone else in the house who might hear.

"You don't even know me," I say.

"But I want to," he replies, then reaches out to touch my wrist. I gasp when he does, and lift my eyes to look at him. "Believe me when I say that you're the most magnetic person I've ever met. I look at you, and you reel me in. And I haven't even known you for 24 hours."

I bite my lower lip and glance at his mouth before looking back up. "Why should I believe you?" I ask. I've been hurt once, badly enough by Derek Shepherd, a boy at my school who asked me out and took me on a date as a dare by his friends. Even though that was in my sophomore year, I haven't fully come back from it and I don't trust easily because of it. It's unrealistic to me that a boy would like me for real.

"I have no reason to lie to you," he claims.

"But you have no reason to tell me the truth, either," I say.

"Besides that maybe I'm a good person," he says, sounding a little clipped. "Just because I have a lot of sex doesn't mean I'm not a good person."

"No…" I say, sighing. "I didn't mean that. I just… I don't know."

He studies me. "Someone hurt you once, and you're scared it'll happen again."

My eyes burn. I won't cry, though. I can't, not in front of him.

"It won't," he says, voice soft but firm as he holds steady eye contact. "I'm not gonna hurt you. I promise."

He takes my hand and holds tight, and I gasp. My pencil drops to the floor where it lands with a light bounce, and he strokes my skin with his thumb. He wears a soft, reassuring smile, and I believe him.

When I finish my homework, I join Jackson out on the back porch. It's just after lunch, and pleasantly warm outside - on its way to getting hot.

"This weather makes me wanna go swimming," he says, squinting up at the sun. "I wish you had a pool."

I raise my eyebrows. "It's not a pool, but I know a place we can go."

He looks at me, interest piqued. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," I say. "I'll pack us some food, and we can take my car. I'll surprise you."

I get a picnic lunch together and change into my bikini, then throw shorts and a tank top on over it. I don't wear it that often, and I've definitely never worn it around a boy I like. Or one who likes me, for that matter.

"You ready?" I ask, calling up the stairs.

A few seconds later, Jackson trots down in black swim trunks and no shirt and I feel my eyes widen. His chest is strong and defined; I've never seen anything so gorgeous in my life. I have to rip my gaze away as I put my flip-flops on, and beg for the flush to leave my skin.

"Born ready," he says. "What'd you pack for us?"

"Just normal picnic food," I say. "You can look inside."

We get in the car and before I start it, I pull out my phone and text Mark, telling him where we'll be. I don't want him to feel left out, or suspicious for that matter. But we'll still have some time to ourselves before he's done with his errands.

"I texted my brother," I say, backing out of the driveway. "He said he'll meet us at the lake in a couple hours."

"Nice," Jackson says, and I can hear him chewing.

"That's for later!" I say, smacking him on the arm.

He cracks up laughing, hunching his shoulders. "Leave me alone," he says, batting his hat towards me. "Stop hitting. Keep your eyes on the road, Baby Driver."

"I'm not a baby," I snap.

"It's a movie," he laughs. "Chill."

"Better be," I say, and tighten my hands on the wheel as we drive to the lake. Jackson rolls down his window and sticks his arm out straight, moving it up and down with the wind as I drive faster. I smile over at him, realizing that I really like the way it feels with him next to me. It feels comfortable, like we've been doing this forever.

As I'm winding through back roads lined with trees, I feel his touch on my wrist. I glance down and see him tugging my hand from the steering wheel, and furrow my eyebrows.

"Wh-what? What're you doing? I'm driving here," I say, feeling my cheeks get red.

"You're ruining it," he says. "Gimme your hand."

"I'm driving!" I insist.

"You can drive one-handed," he says. "I need to hold your hand right now, or I'll die. So you better hand it over."

If I weren't driving, I would collapse. I'm sure of it. I give him my hand, needless to say, and he holds it in his, resting on his lap.

I drive with one hand and get us to the lake. Even after we park, though, he keeps a hold on my hand as he looks at the scenery.

"It's pretty, right?" I say. "And can I have my…?"

"Nope," he says. "Sorry."

"I'm gonna need it," I say.

"And to answer your question," he says. "Yes. You are pretty."

I yank my hand from him and press it to my cheek, in hopes to make my blush go away. "Come on," I say, opening my door. "Let's go."

We set up a picnic blanket near the dock and make sure nothing's going to fly away, then Jackson slips out of his shoes. "I'll race ya to the water," he says, and makes a move to start running.

But I grab his arm and pull him back. "Cheater," I say. "Let me get my clothes off first."

His eyes flash as I realize what I've said, but I try to ignore it. I shimmy out of my jean shorts and pull my tank top over my head, so I'm standing in front of him in my turquoise bikini. I always thought it was pretty modest, but I've never felt so uncovered in my life.

"Ready, set, go!" he screams, and bolts off towards the dock. I jet off after him, knowing I can run faster, and end up matching his pace all the way to the end before we jump off and fly through the air before submerging in the cold lake water.

When I come up, I'm gasping for air and laughing my head off.

"Tie," he says, shaking the water from his hair. "Totally a tie."

"No way!" I say. "I won, and you're a sore loser."

"Whatever," he says. "We hit the water at the same exact time."

"Lies," I say. "Total lies. Get out of here."

"You get out of here," he says, swimming over to me. I shriek and try to paddle away, but he's too fast as he grabs me around my waist and tosses me through the air to land with a splash a few feet away.

I launch water at him when I come to the surface. "No fair!" I say.

He smiles, wiping water from his eyes. "What, that you're tiny and I can throw you through the air like a ragdoll?" he taunts.

I get to where I can touch and he follows me. I shove his chest and he barely budges, he just keeps looking at me with an amused glint in his pretty eyes.

We play like kids in the water for a long time, until we both get hungry. When that happens, he chases me out of the water until I tumble down on the picnic blanket, wrapping my towel around my shoulders so I won't freeze.

"So, is this like, your guys' secret spot?" Jackson asks, looking around. "No one else is here."

"Yeah, kinda," I say. "Been coming here all my life. It's not private or anything, just everyone likes the popular beaches better."

He nods, popping a couple grapes into his mouth. "I like this one," he says.

"Me, too," I say, lying flat on my back.

"Mostly because you're here," he says, reclining on his elbow.

Our faces are very close. There's nothing in between us, and he's smiling right down at me. I lick my lips and mess with the fabric of my bikini top as I watch his eyes rove to my mouth.

"April," he says, the corner of his mouth pulling up in a half-smile. "Can I kiss you?"

I nod shakily, unable to believe that this is really happening. But before I know it, one of his strong hands is framing the side of my face and he's leaning close, then our lips touch.

Kissing him takes my breath away, like they say in all the movies. My heart speeds up and my eyelashes flutter, and I suddenly never want to feel anything else but his lips on mine.

He tilts his head and opens his mouth a little, and I let my hands wander to the back of his neck. I skim my fingertips down to rest on his shoulder blades, and am left lying there in heady shock when he pulls away with a soft popping sound.

"Oh… my…" I breathe, gently touching my lips with the pads of my fingers.

He smiles, eyes traveling to my mouth again before he kisses me a second time. He brushes my wet hair away from my face and tucks it behind my ear while his mouth moves, and I lay my one of my hands on his waist. He breaks his lips from mine only to shower them in tiny, quick kisses in succession to the big one.

"You're amazing," he whispers, and kisses me one more time - long and slow.

A few minutes later Mark texts that he's on his way, so Jackson and I separate on the picnic blanket and look as nonchalant as ever when my brother rolls up in his very shiny car.

"Hey, shitheads!" he calls out, and we both look over our shoulders to see that he's already ripping his shirt off and careening towards the dock. "Last one in's dick's gonna fall off tonight!"

Jackson and I look at each other, then run as fast as we can after Mark. I somehow end up in last place, spitting up water when I come to the surface.

"Look like your dick's comin' off tonight, Al," Mark says, cracking up.

I roll my eyes and splash him, and get dunked for it in return.

"What'd you guys do without me all day?" he asks. "Sit there bored out of your damn minds?"

Jackson and I exchange a nearly-undetectable glance. "Yeah," I say. "Pretty much."

"Boring-ass day," Jackson says. "Thank god you're here."

The weeks of summer pass by deliciously slowly. I graduated from high school with my mom, aunts, Mark and Jackson in the audience cheering me on. I got a job at the local ice cream shop and Mark picked back up his position at the mechanic's shop just down the road, and Jackson works as a counselor for the local football camp.

Today, I'm off work around dinnertime and get home to find a note from my mom telling us to order pizza because she's working late. There's a note right next to it in Mark's nearly illegible handwriting, saying that he ran into Lexie today and won't be home until tomorrow morning.

"Who's Lexie?" Jackson asks, and his voice makes me jump.

"God," I say, pressing a hand to my heart. "You scared me. I didn't know you were home."

"Just got here," he says, picking up an apple from the fruit basket in the middle of the table and taking a big bite. "Walked home."

Football camp is held at the high school, which is just a block or two away. Sometimes before I head into work, I'll stop by and bring him lunch and a Gatorade. And sometimes, I drive by just to see him all sweaty and glistening in the hot summer sun. But he doesn't know that part.

"Look," I say, pointing at the notes. "I think we have the house to ourselves tonight."

He chuckles darkly and winds his arms around my waist, rocking from foot to foot as he stands behind me. "My favorite way to have the house…" he says, tucking his face into my neck.

I let out a high-pitched squeal and hold the side of his head. He knows I'm ticklish there, he knows very well. He tightens his grip around my waist and hugs my body close to his, dropping kisses over my t-shirt on my shoulders.

"Bring home any extras for me today?" he asks.

"Not today," I answer. "We were slammed."

He makes a pretend pouty sound.

"We can order some with the pizza," I say, stroking his arms. "Sweet tooth."

He pinches my waist. "Sweet thing," he shoots back.

I pucker my lips and turn my head to the side, and he gives me what he knows I want. A big kiss, where my eyes close and the butterflies in my stomach go crazy. My favorite kind.

Mark still doesn't know about us, and if everything goes as planned he never will. We've been 'dating,' if you could call it that, for almost two months now.

We don't get much time alone. So when we do, we take full advantage of it. Like now.

With our smiles pressed together, we giggle into each other's mouths as he walks me backwards to the couch. When we get there, the backs of my knees hit the cushions and I fall back onto it, and he overlaps my body with his own. He's heavy, but just heavy enough. I've grown to love the weight of his body on mine, and I wish I could feel it more often.

"You're so gorgeous," he says, finding the base of my ponytail and unraveling it so my hair fans out around my head.

"In my Dean's Ice Cream t-shirt, I'm sure I am," I say, and rest my arms lax above my head. He cranes his neck and kisses the undersides of my biceps, moving up to my inner elbows, which is as far as he can reach. "That tickles," I whisper.

"There's not a place on this body that doesn't tickle," he says, moving his lips to my cheek. "I've found that out."

I can't help but smile at that, because it's true.

"Hey, look," he says. "You did bring a little ice cream home for me today."

He points to a stain on the chest of my t-shirt, which is bigger than I thought and still sticky. I frown at it, then decide to get it out of the way by taking off my shirt entirely and lying underneath him in my green polka-dotted bra.

"I'll take it," he says, lowering his lips to my chest. This isn't the first time he's seen me shirtless, but it's only been a handful of times before this. We usually don't have the time to get this far, though it's obvious we both want to.

I've never been so attracted to someone as I am to Jackson. I just want his hands on me, all the time. As soon as I figured out what that attention felt like, I never wanted it to stop. And he's the best at giving it. If he could touch me all day, he would.

And I love that.

He squeezes my breast in his palm and nibbles on my earlobe, which makes my mouth fall open and the space between my thighs start to pulsate. When I can feel my heartbeat there, I know he's doing something right.

"I like that," I whisper, wrapping an arm around him.

"Honeys, I'm home!"

Mark's voice bellows through the foyer after the front door swings open, and Jackson and I scramble away from each other at lightning speed. I fumble with my shirt with shaking hands and put it on the best I can, trying to smooth my messy hair just as Mark comes through the entryway with a box of pizza in his hands.

He frowns at us. I'm still on the couch and Jackson is an awkward distance away, standing in front of the TV with no apparent purpose.

"Uh… everything okay?" Mark asks, sensing the weird energy in the room.

I stand up from the couch and walk over to the table, where he set the box down. "Everything's great," I say. "Everything's fine. Why? Why would you even ask?"

He shoots us both a shifty look. "Something's weird."

"Nothing's weird," I say, lifting the lid of the pizza box. "You're weird. Ever considered that?"

"Fuck off, Al."

"Thought you were at Lexie's," Jackson says, finally speaking as he walks casually over to us.

"I'm headed that way," Mark said. "'Til Mom called, nagging me to bring this over to you two incompetent boobs. She thought that it would be a 'nice gesture' of me to bring it home. So, you're welcome."

"Thank you, big brother," I say, in the sweetest voice I can muster. "You're a saint."

"Tell me something I don't know," he says. "Also, Al, your shirt's on backwards. You were accepted to both Princeton and Stanford, dude. Show it once in awhile."

"Leave me alone," I say. "It was a busy day at work, and I didn't wanna show my stain."

"Dirty ass," Mark says. "Anyway, I'm off to have some great sex with my ex. I was thinking, if I wrote songs, that's definitely one I would write. Sex with my ex."

"Groundbreaking," I say sarcastically, as I take a big bite of pizza. "Never been done before."

"You're just jealous 'cause you're not getting any," Mark says. "Get your dick wet, then we'll talk."

"Please leave," I say. "Before you say anything else disgusting."

He laughs as he walks out the door, and Jackson and I follow him with our eyes. Once the door shuts and his car leaves the driveway, we let out a collective sigh of relief. We've had plenty of close calls, but that was definitely the closest so far.

"Was it obvious?" Jackson asks, taking a piece of pizza. "Was it totally obvious?"

"I don't think so," I say. "He would've said something."

"He basically did."

"But I wrote it off," I say. "Jackson, it's fine." I reach across the table and take his hand. "I promise. Let me handle Mark. He's just a teddy bear."

"Yeah, to you," Jackson says. "If we get caught, you're not the one I'm worried about."

"I-I know," I say. "But we won't. We won't get caught. We're careful. And either way, he's gone for the night now." I look at him suggestively, which changes the expression in his eyes from fearful to interested.

After we finish our pizza, we make it up to my room. And it started off innocent, just the two of us watching a movie that I picked. The Breakfast Club, which is a classic and not scary at all. And then, Jackson started getting handsy.

I was wearing short running shorts and a big t-shirt, but soon that big t-shirt found its way to the ground and Jackson found his way on top of me. Our laughter disappears into each other's mouths as we kiss, and I feel something hard and insistent pressing up against my thigh as he straddles my hips. I know what it is, I paid attention in health class, but I've just never felt one before.

I know it's wrong of me to want to go further. To see it, to feel it. Maybe even inside me. I think I want to have sex with Jackson.

Maybe not tonight. But this summer, definitely. It's not lost on me that I might not ever see him again, and I don't like thinking about it. But that would be one way to remember him. And for him to remember me.

I trail my hands down his sides and pull his shirt off over his head, and throw it to the side. I love the feeling of our bare torsos flush against each other, so I pull him closer by yanking on the small of his back.

His hips buck against mine, which is a feeling I relish. I love it when he loses control, just a little bit. I bite his bottom lip as he tries to pull away from the kiss, and he moans deep in his throat as he makes his way over my jaw and down to the curve of my neck, where he spends time with his mouth open, sucking hard on the skin.

I whimper when he pulls away; the spot is sore and tender to the touch, but he doesn't stop. I don't want him to. He moves to the swell of my throat, where he presses slow, wet kisses, and moves lower to the divot between my collarbones as he palms my breasts in both hands. He grips them with purpose, massaging with his fingers as I toss my head to one side and let out long, loud moan.

"I love hearing you," he says, voice husky as his hands keep moving. "God, you're so sexy. You're so damn sexy."

I've never felt so confident in my life. No one has ever seen me like this, let alone a man. Let alone someone older than me who actually thinks I matter. Who has eyes for me emotionally, mentally, and physically. I didn't think I'd ever get to experience this magic, whatever it is. I never thought that I'd be this girl.

But Jackson is making me this girl. He made me his girl.

I bend one knee and angle my core against his thigh, which allows a bit of the friction that I need. I want more than that offers, but it's all I can get right now.

I overlap his hands on my breasts, encouraging his fingers to grip harder, massage deeper, as his lips find my cleavage. I've never been confident about my chest, but he makes me feel like it's the best in the world. I never thought I'd be able to say that.

"Jackson," I breathe, fingers ghosting over one of his wrists.

"Hmm?" he murmurs, not lifting his lips from the swell of my breast.

I don't know how to tell him with words what I want. Instead, I just try to move his hand in the right direction, but I'm not sure if he understands. His eyes look confused and cautious, so I try to nod him along.

"Can I touch you?" he asks, licking his lower lip.

I extend my neck and capture his lips in a heady kiss, and I rest my hands on his collarbones as I open my mouth against his. "Touch me," I whisper. "I want you to touch me."

As his hands slips lower on my bare torso, we don't hear our names being called. We don't hear footsteps on the stairs, or footsteps on the hardwood of the second floor. The first thing we hear is my door handle being turned, then Mark appears in the doorway of my room.

"Al, I was calling you- oh, my fucking god. Oh, my fucking good god in heaven, you have to be fucking kidding me right now."

I immediately cover my chest with my arms and Jackson jolts away from me to stand up from the bed. I stare at Mark, wondering what he's going to do next, as he takes a few steps into my room.

"Fucking fuck, Avery," he bellows. "I gave you one damn rule for this summer. And it was called, don't fucking bone my little sister!"

Jackson stands quiet, but his fists are clenched. I'm still sitting on my bed in my bra and shorts, wondering how this will play out. I tell myself that I won't intervene until it gets violent, if it gets that far.

"It's not like that," Jackson says, trying to keep his voice calm. "It's not what you-"

"How is it not what I think?" Mark shouts. "You, on top of her on her bed, hands on her tits? That's not what I think? Oh, were you giving her a free mammogram? Fucking awesome!" He grits his teeth and glowers at Jackson, but Jackson doesn't back down. "Whatever you do to my sister, I do to you," he growls.

Jackson squints at him, confused. "I think that makes you pretty gay, dude," he says.

I have to stifle my giggles, that is until Mark winds back and arm and poises it to punch Jackson. I launch up from my spot on the bed and push my way into the middle of them, shoving Mark back by his shoulders even though he's much bigger and stronger than me.

"Mark, stop!" I say, my voice coming out more shrill than I intended. "I'm eighteen fucking years old. Leave us alone."

He gapes at me, eyes wide and mouth wider. "You… you know swear words?" he stammers.

I shove him again. "Go away!" I demand, and push him out the door so I can slam it.

He doesn't leave, though. In a very overdramatic, loud and wailing voice, he cries, "Where has my little baby sister gone?"

I swing the door open again, face red with annoyance. "I'll give you 20 dollars to go to your room, put on your headphones, and leave us the hell alone for an hour," I say.

He looks over my shoulder at Jackson. I don't follow his eyes, I keep mine trained on him.

"45 minutes," he says.

"An hour," I say, unrelenting. "Or I show mom where you hide your weed."

"Cruel," he says, shaking his head.

"You've taught me well," I say, tipping my head to one side. "Goodbye, Mark." He doesn't budge, so I give his chest a little shove with my fingers. "Good _bye_ , Mark."

"You have a hickey," he mumbles. "Seriously? Fucking seriously?"

I sigh, shoulders deflating. "He makes me happy," I say, under my breath. "No guy has ever… just let him be my first, okay? Can you just let me have this, this one thing? I really like him. Please, Mark. He's good. He's really good."

His eyes flicker from me, to Jackson, back to me. "I don't want to hear any of your disgusting moans and shit," he says. "If I do, that's it. Done. Out. Zippo. Outta here. I don't care how 'good' Avery is."

"Whatever," I say, rolling my eyes lightly. "Goodbye."

I close the door and press my back against it, letting out a long sigh of relief as I look up towards the ceiling. "Well, he knows," I say. "At least that's over with."

Jackson beckons me forward with one finger, and I obey. "I know something that wasn't, though," he says, and I lay on my back again and we start over.

It's on the last night of summer that we do it. It'd been building up for weeks prior - we would get close, then pull away. He hadn't yet touched me below the waist, hadn't given me an orgasm, and now I'm ready.

"I don't want you to leave," I murmured, half-dressed and lying with him in my bed. I've never been more grateful for my mom's on-call hours, because now that Mark knows, I've been slipping back into my own bed almost every night.

It's going to be awful getting used to sleeping alone again. In just a few days, I'm heading off to Princeton on the other side of the country. Tomorrow, Jackson and Mark will go back to U Washington. I can't stomach the thought of not being with him, so I've just been trying not to think about it at all.

But I can't dodge these feelings. I can try all I want, but he never leaves my mind.

"I want to have sex," I say softly, holding him close in bed as his hands wander my body. "I want you to remember me."

He kisses me - first my mouth, then the apple of my cheek, then the space between my eyebrows. "If you feel like that's all I want-"

"No, it's not-"

"No, listen," he says. "I'll remember you for so much more." He smiles. "How you always say you can't eat three scoops of ice cream, but you always finish. How you are just the tiniest bit pigeon-toed. How you can solve a math equation faster than anyone else, ever. How you sing in the shower, how you tie your shoes the bunny-ears way like a little kid." He smiles again, softer this time. "Your freckles," he says, trailing a finger over the bridge of my nose. "Your dimples." His finger wanders lower to the swell of my cheek. "Your sense of humor, how you never let me get away with my shit. You always call me out. How you're faster than me, but only on good days." He kisses me, long and slow. "And how I love you."

I can't help it, I start to cry.

"What's wrong?" he asks. "Baby girl, what is it?"

I shake my head, my lips turning down. "Nothing," I say. "And everything." I wrap my arms around his shoulders tight and bury my face in his neck. "I don't want you to go."

He rubs my back and kisses what part of my head that he can reach. "I know," he murmurs. "I don't wanna leave you, either. I hate this. I hate it so much."

"I fell for you," I say, pulling back and looking at his face. He wipes away my tears with his thumbs, only for them to be replaced. "I fell in love with you. And we can't be together."

He kisses my forehead, keeping his lips there for a long moment. "You made me feel like me," he says. "For the first time in possibly my whole life. You brought me back to me. And I can never thank you enough for that."

I cling tightly to his back, fingers digging in. "You saw me," I say. "When no one else ever has."

He kisses my face all over and I catch my breath, dragging my knuckles down over his cheeks. He pulls back, looks at me, and smiles sadly. And I know I'm going to remember that smile forever.

"I want you as my first," I say. "I wanna make love with you, and I want it to mean something." I take in a deep breath and frame his face slowly. "You mean something. And I want… I need you."

He nods and kisses me surely, deliberately, on the lips. Slowly, we get undressed and even more slowly, discover each other's bodies - what we hadn't known before. He touches me between my legs with his fingers first, then his mouth.

I never knew my body could feel the way he makes it feel. It's like magic, what he can do.

I have the first orgasm of my entire life with his head situated tight between my thighs, and it's a feeling like none other. I don't know how I existed 18 years without knowing what this is like.

Looking at him, I want him to be the only one who ever makes me feel like this. The only one who makes me surrender all my trust and hand my body over, just him.

When he pushes inside me, I open my mouth and let out a small sound, gripping his shoulders tight. There's pressure, a slight pinching feeling, but it doesn't last long. I don't feel the same ecstasy as I did with his tongue on me, but I can tell that he does. His eyes are closed and he's biting his lower lip, breathing heavy from his nose.

When he starts to come, he drops his forehead to my chest, in the middle of my breasts. He holds one of them in his hand, bare for the first time under his touch, and rubs his thumb roughly over my already-hard nipple.

"I love you," I tell him, speaking directly into his ear. "I love you, I love you, I love you."

We didn't linger with goodbyes, mostly because we couldn't.

It might've a good thing, though, that Mark and Mom were right there. Mom was none the wiser for the whole summer and Mark was still grossed out by the fact that his best friend and little sister were in love.

But we'd said our own personal goodbyes the night before, which were more special than any rushed hug and a promise to call would ever be.

And I left for Princeton four days later. With Mom, on a plane, all my stuff packed into the luggage carrier below our feet.

It doesn't dawn on me that this is real and happening until I'm alone in my set-up room, Mom having left to go back to Seattle. I moved across the country from my family and everything I've ever known. It won't be easy to see them anymore.

This isn't home. I don't know anything here. How am I supposed to make friends?

I sit on my bed long enough for my back to get tired, then lie down and roll onto my side to stare at the wall. Tears still drip down my face, over the bridge of my nose, to land on the comforter below.

I don't know if I've ever felt this horrible. This alone, this unsure of what to do next.

I cover my face with my hands and drag them down, feeling them slip on my tears. I'm just about to resign and go to bed, even though it's barely dinnertime, when I hear a knock on my door.

I sit up, confused at who it might be. I come to the conclusion that it's probably my resident advisor, coming to welcome me here. Great, I look really stable with tear streaks running down my face and my hair a mess, but I decide to open the door anyway.

When I do, my RA isn't the one standing there. Not at all. Instead, it's someone who I thought I might never see again, holding a rolling suitcase and wearing a smile so beautiful it could only belong to Jackson.

I can barely breathe, but I manage to say two quiet words. As I stand there and grin wildly at him, I say, "It's you."

I don't know what this means, the fact that he's here, but I don't care. I throw myself into his arms and he lifts my feet from the ground, hugging me as tight as he can. What matters now is that he's with me, and we'll go from here. Both of us. Together.


End file.
